


A Collection of Drabbles - Prompt: Frost

by Neuroharlot



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Drabble, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Revenge, Running Away, Tragic Romance, Violence, prompt: frost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuroharlot/pseuds/Neuroharlot
Summary: The following drabbles are unrelated and cover several different relationships.
Relationships: Harcourt Fitzwilliam | Marquess of Blayne/Isabella Fitzwilliam, Isabella Fitzwilliam/Charlotte Wells, Nancy Birch/Margaret Wells
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5
Collections: Harlots Drabbles





	1. We Fled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy and Margaret’s first night on the cobbled streets of London after escaping Quigley’s bawdy house.

We woke at dawn from a fitful sleep, our heads pressed against each other, babe between our bodies. The bitterly cold cobbles gripped our backsides. My hair was on her face. Hers on mine. I looked down at my hands as my eyes began to focus. A thin layer of frost tiptoed over my bloodied knuckles. I insisted she wore my gloves through the night. She was so cold; she shook like silt at the mercy of the ocean.

Wincing, I brushed the frost away. I caught a glimpse of a familiar shadow. Quigley’s henchman. My frozen hand grasped hers.

We fled.


	2. Revenge

“You’ve taught me how to fend for myself. Now you’ll see how well I do.” Isabella turned on her heel and walked, boots crunching in the snow. She only realised how her fists had been clenched the whole journey once she arrived. Her hands ached.

Isabella’s charm lured Harcourt into the gardens, extravagantly describing how breath-taking they looked in the frost. His lip curled as he ogled Isabella’s heaving chest before turning away.

Lifting her skirts, Isabella grasped the stolen blade from her garter. Irrepressible, primal rage was unleashed. Pained grunts merged with the lady’s sobbing until all was silent. Only red stains remained.


	3. The Gift

“Let me break his spell”, Charlotte had whispered to Isabella. And so the spell was broken. Her heat had melted the frost that lined Isabella’s heart. Charlotte had prized open the cage, set the songbird free. In turn, Isabella’s rose had bloomed, grown from bud to wide open flower, nourished by kisses, touches, tongues exploring, healing, words whispered in the darkness. Tender or frantic, every breath shared cured the poison grief until there was only freedom.

A gift that changed everything.

A gift that even death could not break.


End file.
